


spill my blood on this sand

by Demi_Fae



Series: Whumptober 2020 [31]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Blood and Injury, Gen, Tatooine Slave Culture (Star Wars), Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:41:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27316417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demi_Fae/pseuds/Demi_Fae
Summary: Anakin knew how he looked in the center of the small square. It wasn’t anything unusual to see a slave tied up at the whipping post, to hear the crack of the whip, the cries of the slave, and the laughing of the masters. You never heard the slaves speak in the square. They prayed for the life of one of their own, averted and closed their eyes from the sight of their sibling tied to the post. Many of them knew what it was like to be tied there for punishment or for entertainment, and many knew that they might be next.Anakin looked up to the sky, wishing that Leia the Great Dragon or one of the other goddesses might come and save him now. He prayed just like every other slave before him had, with all their hope and fear, until it shattered on the ground below him. Then he looked to the stained sand, and with his despair, he asked the gods to grant him the will to survive one more day.-Day 31: Experiment |Whipped|Left for Dead
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Shmi Skywalker
Series: Whumptober 2020 [31]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1930612
Comments: 5
Kudos: 90





	spill my blood on this sand

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween, Samhain, or just have a great day! Please be warned of the tags!

Anakin eyed the cart through the crowd carefully. His face was turned away from it while he worked on the small droid in his hands. You could never stare directly at your target, you couldn’t give yourself away that easily. 

Anakin’s hands shook a little as he thought about the tiny tubes of bacta sitting there. They were priceless out here in the desert, where every slave knew that their injuries could be the death of them. Anakin bit his tongue as he considered his plan. 

Distracting the stall owner and opening the small shield around the bacta would be the hardest parts. But with a few tweaks to a small droid that Watto had thrown out ages ago, the droid would hopefully be able to distract him long enough for Anakin to sneak over, disrupt the shields for a bit, grab some bacta and get away.

His mom  _ needed _ that bacta, she was hurting! The owner with their money would never notice a tiny tube missing, and could afford more if they did. Anakin let out a small, shaky breath. 

“Alright, GG, you know what to do,” he whispered to the little droid. GG whirred and puttered it’s way over to the shop owner’s feet. 

The man’s name was Arketh D’moii, and like so many others living on Tatooine, he had picked up a gambling addiction. He couldn’t say no to a high enough stakes game of sabacc and Anakin was counting on the fact that GG looked like the messenger droids some masters used to draw Arketh away for a little while. 

Anakin tracked GG across the square as she rolled on the sand. He held his breath as she transmitted the message up to Arketh and rolled away, expecting Arketh to follow. If he didn’t, Anakin didn’t know what he’d do- his mom might not get better, might die if her injuries were bad enough. She needed time and medicine, and slaves were allowed very little of the former and none of the latter.

To Anakin's utter relief, Arketh paid attention and followed when GG rolled away. He let a minute or so pass, every muscle tensed as he watched for any sign of Arketh turning around. But no, the man disappeared into the crowd. 

Anakin shot forwards, running to Arketh’s stand while staying as low to the ground as he could. Anakin fell to his knees behind Arketh’s stand, hiding him from the view of anyone watching from the square. He reached down his shirt and pulled out the tools he’d stolen from Watto’s. They wouldn’t be missed, rusted and bent as they were, but they were still usable. 

Anakin let out a shaky breath as he looked around one more time. His heart pounded in his chest at the thought of Arketh comign back or one of the security personnel finding him, or one of a million other things. Forcing his eyes back to the shield, Anakin nodded to himself and picked up his tools. He couldn’t back out now. Not when he only had a little more to go. 

Anakin fiddled with the sensors along the edge of the shield so they wouldn’t alert the guards if they were tampered with. It was easy enough to do and over a few minutes late.r But time was almost more precious than the bacta Anakin was stealing, and Anakin felt the sweat pour down his forehead as he wondered how much time he had left. 

Anakin glanced around again to double check that no one was watching him. He didn’t know how long it would take for Arketh to figure out that GG wasn’t actually bringing him to a sabacc game and come back in a rage. All Anakin knew was that he definitely didn’t want to be here when that happened. 

Concentrating harder than he ever had before, Anakin focused solely on the wires and electronics powering the shields. It was like he could hear them humming in his head, guiding his hands to where they needed to go. Anakin let it, almost completely zoning out. He could feel the shields weakening, could feel that he was almost down- and then a small hole appeared. Not much to be noticeable, but enough for Anakin to sneak a hand through and snatch a small tube. 

Not thinking for a second, he did. Anakin held the bacta in his hands, cradled like it was the most precious thing in the universe. And it was. To Anakin right now, this was the medicine that could save his mother. That would be worth anything in the galaxy to him right now, even his own life. 

Anakin was used to paying attention to his surroundings. He was born a slave. In order to stay safe, stay alive, you had to know where your masters were and what mood they were in. Anakin was used to paying attention to his surroundings, and that’s why it was such a surprise when he didn’t notice the figure coming up behind him. 

“You little brat!” A strong hand grabbed Anakin’s arm and held him up as a voice yelled in his ear. “How dare you!”

“I’m sorry!” Anakin blurted out on reflex. He tried to twist out of the grip even though he knew it would be useless. He still held the bacta in his hands. He wouldn’t let that go unless it was pulled from him, no matter what happened. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“You didn’t mean to? You mean you didn’t mean to try and distract me with your little droid? You  _ didn’t mean _ to try and steal my bacta?” Anakin shut his eyes tight to try and hold back tears as Arketh’s grip grew tighter and tighter. 

“No, I-”

“Hey, what’s going on here?” Watto! Anakin had never been so happy to hear his master’s voice as now. 

“Your little slave here,” Anakin bit back a whimper as he was shook around some more. “Tried to steal some of my bacta!” 

“No need to damage him,” the toydarian grumbled as he took in the scene. Anakin had gotten into trouble a few times before, but usually the threat of having to pay for damages on Watto’s  _ property _ discouraged anyone from actually harming him. 

Anakin felt tears prick his eyes as Arketh’s hand gripped tighter on his arm. Somehow, he didn’t think that would be the case this time. 

“I’ll damage him if I want, for breaking into more store and stealing  _ my bacta!” _ Arketh snarled. 

“Did he, ah, break anything?” Watto asked. He was uninterested in Anakin, he already knew- Watto didn’t care for his slaves, only how much they could make for him and keeping them well enough to do it. He wasn’t a cruel master in that, enjoying hurting Anakin and his mother like Anakin knew other masters were, and that Anakin was thankful for. But if Anakin were to cause more trouble than he was worth, he knew Watto wouldn’t hesitate to let Anakin take whatever punishment would let Watto get away without paying for anything. 

“Does it matter?” Arketh snorted. “He needs to learn discipline if he wants to live even two more years as a slave, which you obviously haven’t taught him.” 

Watto glanced down to Anakin’s face and he shook his head quickly. Anakin still had the bacta in his hands- he’d only touched it, nothing else, and the security system was easy enough to fix. There wasn’t anything Watto would need to pay- 

“Unless he’s broken anything, there’s ah, no reason for me to pay anything. Let the boy go and he’ll give you back the bacta,” Watto responded. Anakin knew Watto wanted him to nod and agree, but- give back the bacta? That would save his mom? He was frozen. Between her life and his health- what would he choose?

Arketh’s hand twisted Anakin’s arm suddenly, wrenching it back. Anakin cried out as he was forced forward, other hand automatically flying to clutch at his shoulder. It was a split second later that Anakin realized he’d dropped the tube. Everything in him screamed, everything around him screeched to a halt as Anakins’ entire world narrowed to the falling bacta. 

A thud, a thousand times louder than it should have been, echoed in his ears. 

“Oh, no?” Arketh raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly down to the small tube, the smallest bit of bacta leaking out. “Well, I suppose you’ll just have to pay me back for the  _ damages, _ correct?” 

Anakin stared at the gel. Even the smallest drop was as much money as Anakin brought Watto in a year. There was no way that Watto was going to actually pay Arketh back, he already knew. And Arketh had already said that he’d wanted to teach Anakin a lesson-

“Ah, maybe we can work something out?” Anakin squeezed his eyes as Watto hesitantly spoke up. 

“I believe we can,” Arketh purred back. 

Anakin already knew what was going to happen. Arketh was  _ angry, _ and every slave knew to be wary of an angry master. Arketh may not be  _ his _ master, but he still was one. And Anakin knew the one thing that every angry master always ended up doing to their slaves. 

The murmuring of Watto and Arketh barely pierced the rushing in Anakin’s head. He didn’t need to listen to his own sentencing. Anakin just wished that he’d had the chance to say goodbye to his mother and tell her he was sorry. Anakin could already feel in his bones the pain that he was going to feel, the loss and the aching. 

Anakin didn’t know if he would die. 

He didn’t know if he’d want to survive the glimpse of what he’d feel. 

A few moments later Arketh jerked Anakin away from the stall. Anakin stumbled along with the man’s long strides as he tried to block out the sounds of the crowd around him. He could feel their eyes on him, watching in pity or delight or apathy as they all knew what was happening. 

He didn’t want any of them to look and see the small boy, heading to his punishment. He didn’t want to be here at all- Anakin should have stayed home with his mom, shouldn’t have been caught, should have been faster, and none of this would be happening. 

Anakin’s eyes flew open as he heard a familiar voice call out to him. 

“Ani? Ani!” He could just barely hear his mom’s voice over everything else. She must have noticed that he wasn’t back home yet, then heard the commotion and became worried. She shouldn't have been up at all! She was too hurt to be standing and yet Anakin wanted nothing more than his mother to rescue him, to take him away from Arketh and far, far away from Tatooine. He knew it was selfish and yet he wanted nothing more. 

“Mom!”

“Where is he being taken!” Shmi’s voice faded as Anakin was dragged further into town. He couldn’t focus on anything but the bruising grip on his arm and trying to get his feet under him enough to- run away? Fight back? It would be useless. Anakin had seen slaves much faster and much stronger than him try and fail to escape where he was headed. 

His mom was too far away now and Anakin was too focused on the blood pounding in his head to try and listen for her. He heard other things, instead- snippets of conversations from people who didn’t know him, thinking that they could judge him or his actions. 

“That one’s a little young...”

“...take his place!”

“How many lashes-”

“...think we’ll have to move the body…” 

Far too soon, Anakin saw his fate before him. A tall metal pole in the center of the square. It was placed directly next to where they sold slaves- an easy way to discipline them if they tried to run while being sold. The square brought back memories. The stench of all those bodies, so many different species pressed together, the boiling heat on his skin, listening to the cries of those sold on from their families and the crack on a whip. It was one of his earliest memories. 

~~_ That and the soft touch of a mother, the sting of an implant, the whisper of a power he barely knew in his ear-  _ **_My Son_ ** _ , it called him, told him all the secrets of the universe- _ ~~

Arketh shoved Anakin against the pole. He grabbed Anakin’s arms and brought them around the pole, tying his arms together. The rope was rough and chafing his wrists, which were already beginning to lose feeling from how tight it was. Tears stung Anakin’s eyes and poured down his face as he watched Arketh grab a whip from a nearby slaver. 

He knew he shouldn’t cry-

_ “Be careful not to waste water, Ani,” his mother told him gently as she wiped away his tears. He’d fallen down and tripped somewhere, maybe, but that wasn’t as important as the lessons she’d tried to teach him- “Water is precious in the desert, and your tears are something you should never let the masters see, for then they know they own your heart as well as your body.”  _

_ “But it hurts!” Anakin had wailed.  _

_ Shmi had only smiled. “Well then, I think if we go inside we can make an exception just this once.”  _

-but he couldn’t help it, knowing and not knowing at the same time the pain that was about to come. 

Anakin knew how he looked in the center of the small square. It wasn’t anything unusual to see a slave tied up at the whipping post, to hear the crack of the whip, the cries of the slave, and the laughing of the masters. You never heard the slaves speak in the square. They prayed for the life of one of their own, averted and closed their eyes from the sight of their sibling tied to the post. Many of them knew what it was like to be tied there for punishment or for entertainment, and many knew that they might be next. 

Anakin looked up to the sky, wishing that Leia the Great Dragon or one of the other goddesses might come and save him now. He prayed just like every other slave before him had, with all their hope and fear, until it shattered on the ground below him. Then he looked to the stained sand, and with his despair, he asked the gods to grant him the will to survive one more day. 

Anakin knew his blood would be joining that of generations before him, forever tainting this sand red. He’d be connected just as deeply to the desert as his people as he was his mother, once the first drops spilled and mixed. He couldn’t help but tense in preparation for what was going to come, ready himself for a hit that would hurt no matter what. 

Anakin heard the crack of the whip before he felt the pain on his back. It bit into his skin and tore it, ripping it open and exposing it to the heat of the desert. He could feel the blood beginning to drip down and imagined his bright red drops against the sand stained with the blood of the slaves before him. 

It was worse than anything he’d felt before. Nothing could compare to the feeling of the whip against his bare skin, not even the time he’d bumped into a big-time slaver on the street and they’d cracked three of his ribs with their beating. Every breath then had hurt and he’d been bruised for weeks, but this was a thousand times worse. 

Another crack, and more pain and blood. Tears ran freely down his face now, regardless of the teachings drilled into him since he was born. A third and a fourth hit on his back in quick succession had Anakin gasping for breath and praying that everything would end one way or another. 

Anakin lost track of lashes after that. Every molecule in his body was on fire. He only took in ragged breaths to let out screams, shrieks of pain that couldn’t really convey how much pain he was in no matter how long or high-pitched they were. Anakin collapsed after every bit of energy he had in him faded. He didn’t know how many lashes he’d been goven or how many he had to go. He wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to last- or if Arketh was even going to give him the chance to, if he wasn’t just going to whip Anakin to death on the pole. 

It wouldn’t be the first time a slave had been beaten to death in the square, and it wouldn’t be the last. 

Eventually the whip stopped tearing into Anakin’s back and his breath hitched as he stayed still. It could be a trick from Arketh, making Anakin believe that this was over only to hit him again. But the longer Anakin waited, the more he was sure that Arketh was done. 

Anakin shifted slightly and let out a whimper as his torn clothing stuck to his back, pulling at the wounds. He couldn’t put into words how much everything hurt, only that he’d never felt anything like it and prayed that he never would again. 

“Untie him,” Arketh commanded a group of nearby slaves. One of them, an older man Anakin knew who tried to sneak him and Kitster food on the weeks they had none, approached with pity and understanding shining in his eyes. 

The man unbound Anakin's arms and he immediately collapsed to the ground. Anakin could feel his mother coming towards him, but Arketh cracked the whip as she left the crowd.

“No, leave him be or I’ll give him ten more. Either he crawls his way home or not at all.”

Anakin sobbed into the careless desert, sand in his eyes and mouth. He could taste the tang of his own blood there, thick and heavy on his tongue. Slowly he reached an arm up against the whipping post to drag himself up. 

His back burned like the heat of the desert had been poured into every cut. Anakin could barely think past the pain, let alone try and walk- or crawl- home. Anakin tried to take one unsteady step forwards, only to fall again. 

Arketh and the other masters laughed at his attempt and how easy it was to hurt a slave boy. They didn’t care for their lives, and why would they? They were slaves, little more than property to be used however they wished and then discarded. 

Anakin let his life drip down his face and back. He felt sand crust in his tears and blood alike as he forced himself to push to his hands and knees and excruciatingly move forward. If Anakin stopped moving, he died. If he ever collapsed and didn’t immediately rise his energy would seep into the sand that already greedily accepted his blood, and he’d never rise. 

So Anakin pushed himself, no matter the pain, every time he fell. The masters and other onlookers disbanded after a little while, deciding it was too boring to watch the little slave boy crawl home for hours. They’d go on with their lives, never giving a second thought to Anakin and whether or not he’d died. 

Anakin couldn’t have cared less. His people were around him, giving him strength when he failed. Anakin didn’t know how many times tat happened. He didn’t know how long it took. All he knew was the people around him and the long road before him. 

The other slaves were silent as they followed Anakin and his mother home. Those that could continue without being punished followed in person, and those that could not were with him in spirit. They would be there through it all, in life and if the worst should happen, in his death. They were a celebration and a funeral march in one. 

Anakin remembered being a part of these slow marches. Asking his mother why they couldn't help, why they would stay if they weren't allowed to do anything. 

Shmi had sat him down when they went home and pulled their foreheads together.  _ "We are there to observe and remember the way of the masters and our people," she said. "We are there because we all suffer when one of us does. We stay, Ani, because we are all connected under the Sun and under Ar-Amu. And we will remember every death of one of our own, even if no one else does." _

Anakin dragged himself along. There were only a few more steps, now. His arms were ready to give out and only the thought of dying in the sand, so close and yet so far from his mother, from safety, kept him moving. 

Anakin reached one hand out, and then the other. He was in front of the door now. All his tears and saliva had dried under the heart of the sand. Anakin couldn't feel anything other than the soreness of his muscles crying for rest, the ache in his bones, the agony in his back. 

Anakin collapsed onto the familiar ground of his home, his mother next to him. 

She didn't waste a second, ordering a few of the stronger slaves to bring him to their table and set him there. They were careful to not touch his wounds but even their soft grips had him whimpering. 

They lifted Anakin up to the table and laid him on his stomach. They left their house, silent as the grave- this was a family issue now, and to be seen helping would be to bring punishment down on themselves. They would still help as best they could, but to be there physically was a risk few were willing to take. 

Anakin wanted to cry as he felt the sand being washed out of his wounds, but he didn't have any tears left. He thought he'd grown used to the whip but even his mother's gentle touch sent fire down his spine. 

It took more time and water than they could afford, but eventually Anakin's wounds were as clean as they could be. He could hear the sounds of fabric tearing behind him. He knew without opening his eyes that it was his mother's cleanest dress and he felt his heart ache.

“Never, never do that again,” Shmi said as she carefully wrapped Anakin’s back. Her voice was still strong though trembling as she tried her hardest not to cry. Water was precious in the desert and you couldn’t waste it on tears. “Do you understand me, Ani? Never again.” 

“I promise,” Anakin whispered. The silence sat between them that night, heavy and afraid. 

"Mom?" Anakin asked after several minutes. 

"Yes Ani?"

"I'm sorry."

Shmi sighed, then helped Anakin to sit up on the table. She walked around him and kneeled on the ground. "There was no need for you to do that Ani," she said as she stated into his eyes. 

Anakin felt his face crumple as he began to sob. His mother's hand touched his face and she stood up to cradle him gently. 

"My sweet boy," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. Anakin felt a few tears hit the top of his head. "Never, never again."

(The only thing Anakin was sorry for that day was that he was caught. He knew he’d do it again to save his mother, in a heartbeat. 

There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for her.)

**Author's Note:**

> Ngl, I am very happy to be over with whumptober lol. It's been fun, but,,,, I need a break  
> Or at least to write something different
> 
> You can yell at me on tumblr at [rynae-reblogs](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/rynae-reblogs)


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